Traitor's Moon

by Lynn Flewelling

  Seregil bowed. “Meaning no disrespect, my lord, but we’re doing this for Klia’s sake, and for our own. And if Alec and I had abandoned Skala, as you put it, we wouldn’t have undertaken this mission in the first place. Just so we understand one another.”

  “We do,” Korathan replied with a tight smile that sent a ripple of unease up Alec’s back. “Your declaration of loyalty is most appreciated.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Alec whispered when they were safely above decks again and out of the prince’s hearing. “And you weren’t much help. You practically insulted the queen to his face!”

  “That truth knower of his was still lurking outside the door. Besides, I doubt I told him anything he hasn’t already guessed. He knew it was foolish to try an attack; I’ve shown him a way to come out of this a winner.”

  “If we can get back to the city,” muttered Alec, ticking his doubts off on his fingers. “If the Gedre or Akhendi don’t execute you on Haman’s behalf before we get there. If the Iia’sidra believes us, and if we’re right about the Akhendi at all.”

  Seregil draped an arm over Alec’s shoulders. “One problem at a time, talí. We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?”

  48

  AN UNEASY TRUCE

  Beka waited for nightfall before coming out onto the main road again. Cold, hungry, and footsore, she hummed ballads under her breath to keep her spirits up and her mind clear of questions she had no answers for.

  Just before midnight she reached a village and helped herself to a horse. She hadn’t seen a dog since she’d arrived in Aurënen. A good thing, now that I’m turning thief, she thought, grinning wryly to herself as she led the horse away.

  When she was out of earshot, or at least bowshot, she mounted it bareback, wrapped her hands in the mane, and urged it into a trot, hoping it would respond to leg pressure since she had no reins. When it did, she kicked it into a gallop, laughing with relief.

  Further down the road, she snagged a clean tunic and sen’gai from a washline and attempted to make herself a bit less conspicuous, binding her long red hair out of sight and making the best job of the sen’gai that she could.

  By dawn she guessed she might be within a day’s ride of the city, barring trouble. It was a chancy thing, staying on the road, but a growing sense of urgency drove her on. Her place was at Klia’s side.

  The bay mare was as good as any she’d ever ridden. Horse thieving would be a profitable profession here, she thought, if every nag stolen hastily in the dark proved as fine as one you’d have to raid a noble’s stable for in Skala.

  She encountered more people on the road as the morning wore on, but most were intent on business of their own and didn’t waste a second glance on a poor, barefoot stranger. When there were more than a few people together, she turned aside and waited behind the shelter of the trees for them to pass. She kept a lookout to the rear, as well, but no one seemed in any hurry to overtake her.

  This plan worked well enough until just past midday, when she struck a stretch of road that wended through a deep cut. Rounding a bend, she found herself faced with a pack of armed riders less than a hundred yards away, coming on at a canter. There was nowhere to go but back, and that was bound to attract notice.

  At least they wore the colors of Akhendi, she noted with relief. Keeping to the side of the road, she continued on at a steady pace, praying that they’d go single file and keep their distance.

  She was nearly past when one of them suddenly reached out and snatched the sen’gai from her head. Her red hair tumbled down over her shoulders, damning as any uniform.

  “It’s the Skalan!” the man shouted. Dropping the sen’gai, he drew his sword and raised it to strike.

  Ducking low over her horse’s neck, Beka grasped its mane and kicked hard. The mare bolted forward, then reared as two horsemen angled to block her escape.

  Hands snatched at her tunic. For an instant all she could see was a circle of leering faces and glinting steel. Another man struck at her with a cudgel, bruising her arm through her mail shirt.

  Suddenly a fierce yell sounded from somewhere overhead, followed by the sound of falling rock. Still wheeling her horse, Beka caught a glimpse of another horseman plunging down the steep slope to her right. Then he was among the Akhendi, laying about with the flat of his sword.

  “Go!” he shouted, urging his horse forward to block one of her attackers. “Break out, damn it. Ride!”

  Beka knew that voice. “Nyal?”

  “Go!”

  Looking around, she spotted a young rider who’d been startled by Nyal’s sudden appearance. Screaming an Urgazhi war cry, she barreled into him, knocking him off his horse as she surged past to the open road beyond. It was the wrong direction, but it would have to do for now.

  She heard another wild whoop behind her, then the sound of pursuit. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Nyal galloping after her with the Akhendi close behind.

  He caught up with her and thrust something at her: her sword, hilt first. She wrenched it free, letting the scabbard fall away, and slapped the flat of the blade across her mount’s rump, urging it on.

  “This way,” Nyal shouted, pointing to a side road ahead.

  Caught up in the moment, she followed without question.

  “It’s no use. They’re still with us!” she cried, looking back to see the Akhendi still in full cry behind them. “We can’t outrun them. Turn and fight! There are only five of them now.”

  “Beka, no!” Nyal cried, but she was already slowing.

  Turning her horse, she let out another yell and galloped back, sword held high. As she’d expected, the sudden turnabout startled her pursuers. Three veered off, but the others charged her. The road was narrow here, so she aimed her mount between them. Ducking the leader’s swing, she came up in time to catch the second a blow to the head with her hilt. He toppled off his horse and she rode on toward the remaining three. One turned tail and ran, but the other two closed in on her.

  Fighting on horseback without a saddle or stirrups to brace against was dangerous at best. Instead, she slid off the far side, using the horse as a momentary shield, and ducked under its neck to slash at the hocks of her closest opponent’s mount. She managed to nick it, and the animal reared, throwing the rider. Then she was turning to block a blow from his companion, who’d outflanked her. Caught between two horses, she threw herself under the belly of her attacker’s mount and rolled to her feet on the other side. She slashed him across the thigh, then smacked his horse on the rump, sending it hurtling into the man she’d knocked from the saddle.

  Another horseman bore down on her, and she braced for an attack, but it was Nyal, yelling for her to get up behind him. Grabbing his outstretched hand, she thrust her foot over his in the stirrup and let him haul her up behind his saddle. He wheeled about and took off at a gallop, leaving their wounded ambushers in the dust.

  Beka had no choice but to wrap her free arm around his waist, clinging to him as they galloped further down the overgrown track. Some part of her mind registered how good he felt, pressed against her, but she pushed the thought away angrily, recalling instead the coldness in his eyes when he’d captured her.

  They rode on in silence for a few miles, then stopped to let the horse drink at a stream. Beka slid quickly off, still grasping her sword, and took a few steps back.

  Nyal dismounted but didn’t try to approach her. He just stood there, sword sheathed, arms folded across his chest.

  “Where did you come from?” she demanded. “Were you tracking me down again?”

  “After a fashion,” he admitted. “I saw where you’d been ambushed. I was certain I’d find you dead, but instead picked up your trail where you eluded the others. I figured you wouldn’t be happy to see me, so I kept back, shadowing you to make sure you were safe. You did well, until the Akhendi jumped you. I wasn’t expecting that, either.”

  Beka ignored the compliment. “If you wanted me safe, then why track me down in the first pl
ace?”

  He gave her a rueful grin. “It seemed the best way to distract my fellow searchers from following your friends, whom I guessed rightly had business over the mountains.”

  “You found them?”

  He nodded. “So did a gang of bandits, but we dealt with them. I sent Seregil and Alec on their way and came back to make certain you reached Sarikali safely.”

  “So you say,” she growled.

  “Talía.” He stepped closer, and she spotted a dark stain on the front of his tunic, near the lower hem. It was blood, but too dry to have come from today’s fighting.

  “So you let them go, did you?” she said, pointing.

  “Alec was wounded, shot through the leg,” Nyal told her, rubbing at the stain. “I bound the wound for him.”

  This was agony. She wanted to believe him, even had some reason to do so, but caution still held her back. “Why did the Akhendi attack me?”

  Turning away, Nyal sat down on a large stone next to the stream. “I don’t know,” he said, and she knew then that he was lying.

  “It has something to do with Amali, doesn’t it?”

  This time there was no mistaking the guilty flush that suffused his face. Seregil was right about him all along, she thought miserably. “You’re in league with her, aren’t you?”

  “No,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head wearily.

  She stared down at him, and her traitorous heart summoned memories of how his bare skin felt beneath her hands. She’d told Alec she wasn’t love-blind; now was the time to prove it. “Give me your weapons,” she ordered.

  Without a word, he unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it at her feet, then did the same with the knife at his belt. She hung them over her shoulder, and checked his boots and tunic for hidden blades.

  He was so patient, so passive, that she began to feel guilty. Before she could stop herself, she’d reached to brush a hand against his smooth cheek. He turned his head toward it, making the touch into a brief caress. She pulled back as if she’d been burned.

  “If I’ve wronged you, I’m sorry,” she said through clenched teeth. “I have my duty.”

  He looked away again. “So you’ve always said. What do you want to do now?”

  “I have to get back to Klia.”

  “At least in that, we are in agreement,” he replied, and she was certain she saw him smile as he turned away to mount his horse.

  Somehow, she doubted whether the ride would be any easier from here.

  49

  SURRENDER

  Lulled by the motion of the ship, Seregil slept deeply in spite of what lay ahead. He’d half hoped, half feared to dream again, but when he woke before dawn the following morning, he remembered nothing. Beside him, Alec frowned and muttered in his sleep, then came awake with a startled gasp when Seregil brushed his cheek.

  Glancing out the tiny window at the end of the bunk, Alec settled back on his elbows. “Feels like we’re still under sail.”

  Seregil shifted for a better look. “We’re a mile or two out. I can see lights in Gedre.”

  They said little as they dressed in borrowed clothes. With a pang of regret, Seregil took off Corruth’s ring and hung it around his neck on a string. The Akhendi bracelet was at the bottom of his old pack, wrapped in the Akhendi sen’gai they’d taken from the ambushers.

  “What about our weapons and tools?” Alec asked.

  “Wear your sword,” Seregil said, buckling his own on. “Leave the rest here; I doubt we’ll be allowed anything more dangerous than a fruit knife after today.”

  No one sailed out to meet them this time. Leaving his escort at the harbor’s mouth, Korathan anchored out beyond the piers and was rowed ashore in a longboat with the two wizards. Seregil and Alec followed in a second boat, hooded and anonymous among Korathan’s guard.

  “Riagil must suspect something,” Alec whispered, scanning the distant crowd waiting for them on the shore.

  Seregil nodded. It appeared that most of the city had turned out for their arrival, but there were no signs of welcome: no singing, no boats, no flowers strewn on the water. He rubbed his palms nervously on the legs of his leather trousers, knowing every pull of the oars brought them closer to what might prove a very disheartening moment of truth.

  His sense of foreboding grew as they ground to a halt in the shallows, greeted only by the rough sigh of the wind and the slap of waves along the beach. They waded in behind Korathan and his entourage but hung back out of sight.

  Following Seregil’s instruction, Korathan stopped just above the water’s edge, waiting to be summoned onto forbidden soil.

  A man stepped from the crowd, and Seregil saw with relief that it was Riagil í Molan. He must have headed home as soon as their disappearance was discovered. The khirnari approached Korathan unsmiling, hands clasped in front of him rather than extended in welcome.

  Alec shifted restlessly, knee-deep in the surf.

  “Be patient,” whispered Seregil. “There are forms to be observed.”

  “Who are you, to come to my shores with ships of war?” Riagil demanded in Skalan.

  “I am Korathan í Malteus Romeran Baltus of Rhíminee, son of Queen Idrilain and brother of Queen Phoria. I do not come for battle, Khirnari, but seeking teth’sag for the attack on my sister, Klia ä Idrilain, and for the murder of her envoy, Lord Torsin. By my blood tie to the Bôkthersa, I claim that right.”

  The tension broke as Riagil smiled and walked down to meet him. “You are welcome here, Korathan í Malteus.” Riagil removed a heavy bracelet from his wrist and presented it to the prince. “When I left Sarikali your sister still lived, though she remains ill and in seclusion. Her people protect her well. I will send word of your arrival to the Iia’sidra.”

  “I wish to speak with them myself,” Korathan told him. “I demand an audience in the queen’s name.”

  “This is most irregular, to say the least,” Riagil said, taken aback by the man’s abrupt manner. “I do not know if they will allow you to cross the mountains, but rest assured your claim of honor will be heard.”

  “The atui of Gedre is well known,” Korathan replied. “To prove my own good faith, I honor the teth’sag of the Haman against my own kinsman.”

  On cue, Seregil waded forward, eyes averted. Splashing up to the beach, he drew his sword and drove it point first into the wet sand. “You know me, Riagil í Molan,” he said, pushing back his hood. “I acknowledge that I have broken teth’sag and of my own free will surrender myself to the judgment of the Haman and the Iia’sidra.” Dropping to his knees, he prostrated himself facedown, arms extended at his sides in a gesture of abject submission.

  A moment of eerie quiet followed. Seregil lay absolutely still, listening to the water trickling between the grains of sand beneath his cheek. Riagil could by rights slay him with his own sword for breaking the decree of exile. If he were in league with Akhendi, it would be a most convenient tactic.

  He heard muffled footsteps approach, then, from the corner of his eye, saw the sword blade shift slightly as someone grasped the hilt.

  Then a firm hand closed over his shoulder.

  “Rise, Exile,” said Riagil, drawing him to his feet. “In the name of the Haman, I take you captive.” Lowering his voice, he added, “The Iia’sidra are awaiting your return before the vote is taken. You have much to explain.”

  “I’m anxious to do so, Khirnari.”

  Alec splashed up beside them, planted his sword, and assumed the ritual posture.

  “As a Skalan, you must be judged by your own people, Alec í Amasa” Riagil said, lifting him up. At his signal, one of his kinsmen collected their swords. Several others fell in beside Seregil.

  “I must ask two things of you that may strain your patience, Khirnari,” said Korathan. “These two must be allowed to speak on my behalf, regardless of the sentence passed against them. They came to me at great peril to their own lives to bring news of who has attacked my family.”

&
nbsp; “I have to speak to the Iia’sidra. Emiel í Moranthi’s life and the honor of three clans depend on it,” Seregil told him. “I swear it by Aura’s name.”

  “This is why you left?” Riagil asked.

  “It seemed reason enough, Khirnari.” Not quite a lie.

  “I would also prefer to keep their return secret until we arrive in the sacred city,” Korathan added.

  Riagil noted Seregil’s bruised face and nodded. “As you wish. It is enough that they have returned. Come, Korathan í Malteus, you shall be made welcome in my home until the will of the Iia’sidra is known. I’ll send word to Sarikali at once.”

  And so it was, a short time later, that Seregil found himself once more in Riagil’s painted courtyard. He and Alec sat apart from the others under the watchful gaze of their guards while Korathan and his people were given wine and food.

  “At least he hasn’t chained you,” Alec remarked hopefully.

  Seregil nodded absently, studying Korathan. It had been thirty years or more since they’d roistered through the Lower City stews together. Time had taken a harsh toll on the man, leaving him grim to the point of melancholy most of the time. Seated under the gnarled shade tree, he seemed uneasy with the peaceful setting—unmoved by the warm sunshine or the smiling, generous Gedre attending him.

  A man made only for war, Seregil thought. Yet a man of reason as well, or they wouldn’t be sitting here now.

  Within the hour Riagil rejoined them bearing good news. “The Iia’sidra has granted you entrance to the sacred city, Korathan í Malteus,” he announced happily. “There are restrictions, however.”

  “I expected as much,” Korathan replied. “And they are?”

  “You may bring your wizards, but no more than twenty soldiers, and you must order your vessels to anchor outside my harbor.”

  “Very well.”

  “You must also invoke your blood tie to the Bôkthersan clan in order to declare teth’sag. Adzriel will act as your sponsor before the council.”